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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25602622">Flying Fish</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey'>athena_crikey</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hunter X Hunter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Delirium, Fever, Fever Dreams, Finding Peace, Hisoka looking but not touching, Lust, M/M, No nen Gon, Not quite ready for the deathmatch yet, Post-Anime, h/c, mind-games, mutual attraction (to danger)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 08:16:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,237</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25602622</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/athena_crikey/pseuds/athena_crikey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"I have many lusts, but no loves. In some ways we are similar, but in this we are poles apart.”</p>
<p>“That’s kind of sad, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Hisoka looks down at Gon, expression bland. “A fish cannot lust after flight; how could I miss what I’ve never known?”</p>
<p>“But there are flying fish, Hisoka. There’s hope for all of us, I think.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gon Freecs &amp; Hisoka, Gon Freecs/Hisoka</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>220</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Gon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I want you to retrieve something very precious to me.”</p>
<p>Gon looks at the old man in the wheelchair, his white hair shining like snow in the afternoon sun and the thick blanket on his knees to keep out the early spring chill dusty. </p>
<p>They’re in a big, fancy office, the oak desk huge and heavy and the leather chairs an unusual shade of aubergine. There’s a beautiful Pearsian rug on the floor, and Azian vases and bowls on pedestals around the wood-paneled walls. All the trappings of wealth and power, the office of a wealthy businessman or magnate. But the old man sitting in a strip of sun by a crackling fire is bowed and wrinkled, clinging to life by his fingernails. </p>
<p>“Oh?” says Gon, meeting his milky blue eyes. “What?”</p>
<p>“I married young to the wealthy daughter of an excellent family. She was a good wife to me, but we were never in love. That came later, when I took a tour of the Mankutta region to see their oil refineries. My guide was a beautiful local girl named Mei. We fell in love, but I couldn’t leave my wife – she was the backbone of my business and a shrewd investor and board member. All I could do was treasure the time I had with Mei. And when it was over and time to come home, I promised myself I wouldn’t think about her anymore.” </p>
<p>The old man sighs, a sound like a door closing somewhere deep inside a castle, dark and dusty and long-forgotten. “It was a foolish promise, but I held to it for years. My wife and I had children, and expanded our business, and prospered. She died last year, and my children are living abroad running the business. I’m all alone now, and I find myself thinking of Mei. We had keepsakes – just little things, but they were precious to us. She said she would leave them for me, if I ever wanted them back. Well, now I’m old and crippled and too weak to make a journey to Mankutta. I want you to go and get them back. I’ve marked the location on a map. There are local dangers, of course. Huntsmen and harsh terrain, treacherous drops and dangerous beasts.”</p>
<p>Gon smiles. “Sounds fun.”</p>
<p>The old man looks up at him and laughs, a dry sound like paper crinkling. “I was young like you once.” He smiles with his chapped, pale lips. “I’m sure you’ll bring my treasures back to me. But I like to be certain, and I have the fortune to afford it. I’ve hired another Hunter as well. He will meet you tomorrow at the airfield. Now, now, don’t protest,” he says, when Gon starts to object. “Allow an old man his peace of mind. I don’t have many days left to me; I can’t afford your trip to fail.”</p>
<p>In the fireplace a log cracks, sparks shooting upwards and dying even as they fall. “Yes, I can’t afford it to fail,” he repeats quietly. Thin, spidery fingers reach out and point to the desk; Gon crosses over to it. A map is folded up on its surface. “The location is marked on that map. All you have to do is get there and retrieve what Mei left for me. The reward is 2,00,000 Jenny.”</p>
<p>Gon picks up the map and nods. “I’ll bring your treasures back,” he promises.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>He’s at the airfield before dawn the next morning, the eastern horizon almost frost-white with the slow-rising sun. The large departure lounge is mostly empty, just a few bleary-eyed travelers sitting in their seats clinging to their luggage like pillows.<p>Gon finds his departure gate and takes a seat, easing his backpack off. He usually travels light, but Mankutta at this time of year is cold; he’s had to bring a blanket and coat, as well as some extra warm gear. He’s always been more comfortable with heat rather than cold, Whale Island semi-tropical and never seeing snow. </p>
<p>Here in York Shin City, though, he’s too hot in his heavy down-lined knee-length coat; he shucks it off and tucks it through the straps of his backpack, ready to go as soon as they start boarding the airship. </p>
<p>Without his nen, Gon can no longer sense approaching auras. But when he hears the heels clicking on the lounge’s tile floor a brief burst of excitement and fear floods through him. He knows that sound. </p>
<p>He cranes his head upwards and sees Hisoka come around from behind him. The magician is wearing a brown leather bomber jacket with white sheep-fleece lining overtop his usual colourful outfit. His boots are ankle-boots with low heels, fashionable but also walkable. His yellow eyes shine as he comes to a stop and stares down at Gon. </p>
<p>“A pleasant surprise,” he comments. He has a sail-cloth bag slung over one shoulder, the coarse cord holding it wrapped around his left hand. “The old man refused to tell me who my companion would be, and it would be so wearisome to be stuck with a bore.”</p>
<p>Gon smiles up at him. “I think you could handle it,” he says. </p>
<p>“Mm. But how troublesome to have to kill a companion before even leaving on my trip.” Hisoka glances down at the seat beside him. “May I sit?”</p>
<p>Gon shuffles over. “Sure.”</p>
<p>Hisoka swings his bag down to sit on the ground at his feet and takes his seat gracefully, long legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles. In the harsh lounge light his pale face looks strange, ethereal. Up close Gon can see that the fabric of his clothes is thicker and stiffer than the light-weight cotton he usually wears; the colours a little faded. Hisoka turns to consider Gon, a slight smile on his lips. His nails tap on the metal armrest that separates them; they’ve been painted poison green. </p>
<p>Hisoka is unlike anyone Gon has met before, and while the most obvious differences lie in his thirst for violence and cat-like self-indulgence, there’s a lot that’s much simpler about him that Gon finds fascinating. None of the fishermen on Whale Island had painted their nails or wore make-up or jewelry other than the storm charms their wives wove for them out of leather. None of them had moved like Hisoka, with sly grace and sensuous elegance. And none of them had ever made his skin prickle with excitement, a sensation like static electricity dancing on his forearms. </p>
<p>The magician reminds him of a feline, capable of intense affection one moment and bloody violence the next. His unpredictability, his strength, his grace… they make him interesting. Make him fascinating, pulling at Gon as the moon pulls at the ocean. Hisoka may be close or far, his influence over Gon ebbing or flowing, but it never entirely disappears. </p>
<p>Without otherwise moving from his relaxed posture, Hisoka stretches out his long, clever fingers and scrapes his nails along the back of Gon’s forearm. The sound is whisper-quiet; it sends the hairs on the back of Gon’s neck up. </p>
<p>“Tell me, Gon. Why do you use <i>zetsu</i> in such a mundane setting?”</p>
<p>Gon swallows, looks at him. Hisoka’s eyes are curious, unblinking.</p>
<p>Gon hasn’t kept his lack of nen a secret, despite the urgings of Morel and Knov for caution. He’s been taking jobs anyway, working to keep himself distracted. Hunter work is closely vetted to ensure fairness in remuneration; it’s easy enough to pick out tasks that don’t require nen. </p>
<p>“It’s not <i>zetsu</i>,” he says slowly. “My nen is gone.”</p>
<p>He watches the surprise draw over Hisoka’s face like the sunrise, his features brightening, sharpening. “Oh? And where, pray tell, did it go?”</p>
<p>“I used it all up. Through a covenant. All the nen I would ever have, all at once.”</p>
<p>Hisoka’s eyes narrow in pleasure, his bloodlust flickering slightly, washing over Gon like dead desert air. “What an <i>amazing</i> sight that must have been,” he breathes. “And how <i>awful</i> of you to deny me the pleasure of it. Who could have deserved it more than me?”</p>
<p>“Someone who tortured and killed a friend of mine. His name was Pitou. I killed him.” Gon spits the words out like marbles, curt and hard. </p>
<p>“A good friend?”</p>
<p>“The first Hunter I ever met. It’s because of him that I’m a Hunter today.”</p>
<p>“Hmm.” Hisoka tilts his head to the side. “Not your father? I heard about your reunion at the Chairman Election. So emotional.”</p>
<p>Gon blinks. “I guess. And my Dad <i>is</i> the reason I became a Hunter. But without Kite… I would never have known anything about him. I’d probably be a fisherman on Whale Island now.”</p>
<p>“And what a waste that would be,” purrs Hisoka. He opens his mouth to say something else, but the overhead pager announces their flight is loading. They stand, hauling up their bags. “Well, whatever has happened, I’m glad you will be my companion. It should prove an entertaining job.”</p>
<p>Gon nods. “Un! Let’s go!”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>They watch the sunrise from the air, honey-gold light pouring over the ugly badlands surrounding York Shin City and painting the arid earth red.<p>There’s a cafeteria serving breakfast; Gon had only an energy bar before leaving his hotel room, and is already starving. Hisoka accompanies him and watches with amusement as he loads his tray up with eggs and bacon and a fruit salad and maple sausages and toast and marmalade and tea. </p>
<p>Hisoka has coffee and a pastry. It’s light and fluffy and comes apart as he eats it, flakes stuck to his fingers by sugar. He licks them clean, watching Gon all the while; it makes Gon’s skin uncomfortably hot. He stares for a minute, Hisoka’s pink tongue lapping out over his white hands. Then the scent of his meal pulls his attention and he looks down at it, concentrating on the food and nothing else as he gobbles down his breakfast. </p>
<p>Afterwards they take their drinks and look for somewhere to sit, the airship boasting several lounges as well as private rooms that can be reserved. The red-eye flight isn’t very popular and they find two seats beside a window easily, settling down. Gon sips his tea while Hisoka slowly tips his coffee back and forth, watching the black liquid wash up against the white porcelain cup. </p>
<p>“I confess I’m surprised that you’re taking jobs,” he says at last, just as Gon gets down to the dregs of his drink. He looks up, eyes like old coins, glittering in the low light. “I would have thought you would be working to regain your nen. Probably with darling Killua in tow.”</p>
<p>Gon takes in a deep breath, feels his ribs stretching with it, his spine popping. He lets it out slowly. “Yeah. I can understand that. A lot of people thought that. My friends all offered to help. But… you can’t go back on a price you paid. That’s cheating. I chose to use up all my nen to defeat Pitou. Trying to get it back feels unfair. Feels wrong. What would be the point of that sacrifice, if I just undid it?” he looks out over the landscape; they’ve passed the badlands and are over open fields now, spared from the blight around York Shin City. The grass is verdant, fields marked out like a patchwork quilt, all different shades of greens and browns. Here and there fluffy white sheep graze, or big dark cows. </p>
<p>“You never cease to surprise me,” comments Hisoka. “That’s what I like about you, Gon. You’re so <i>fresh</i>, like a sea breeze. You make me long for…” he trails off, lips curling secretively. </p>
<p>Gon looks over, curious. “For what?”</p>
<p>“For your attention unbridled. For your pleas or your curses or whatever would convince me that you see me, <i>only</i> me before you.”</p>
<p>Gon blinks. “I do see you, Hisoka. You’re right here.”</p>
<p>The magician smiles. “Yes. But your mind is in part elsewhere: on your next meal, or the weather, or searching your surroundings. Right now, even as we talk, you’re thinking about your nen, and your sorrows, and your friends. Very rarely do you turn all the focus of your being on one person. But when you do, it’s <i>exquisite</i>. That’s the Gon I want to see.”</p>
<p>“You’re kind of strange, Hisoka.”</p>
<p>Hisoka brushes his knuckle up against his smile. “It has been said.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “Now. Let’s see this map, shall we?”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>They land in Mankutta a few hours later. The sky is grey with storm clouds, while in the fields the first green shoots are struggling to sprout, leaves budding on trees. It’s not below freezing but it’s chill; the wind has icy teeth.<p>Gon pulls on his coat and backpack and follows Hisoka down the ramp. Mankutta is a village surrounded by pine forests, distant mountains rising jaggedly to take bites out of the sky. Their target lies away towards the mountains at the base of a waterfall. There are paths into the forest but no roads, and few vehicles to rent; Mankutta is resource-rich but cash-poor, its oil stolen by tycoons from the southern part of the continent. </p>
<p>He and Hisoka cut through the village and out beyond its stockade fence. There’s about a mile of open fields, and then the trees start. Tall and dark and evergreen, they blot out the sky and turn the earth orange with dried needles. The ground here will be acidic for generations, Gon knows, won’t grow crops even if the trees are forested. </p>
<p>With little sun cutting through the thick branches the underbrush is thin, almost non-existent. It’s easy to cut a path through the trees, up and down gentle slopes between the reddish boles. The bark is rough and fibrous, and the local women use it to weave baskets. </p>
<p>Following the map they pick up on the river that descends from the waterfall they’re making for, and from there it’s a simple matter of following the riverbed. The water flows fast and cold, sun dashing rainbows through the spray over rapids. </p>
<p>The forest smells of cedar and damp earth; rich, clean scents that Gon soaks up. It’s wonderful to be out of the city, out of the fumy pit that is York Shin City, its streets packed with cars belching exhaust and its air thick with smoke from coal-burning stoves. There’s plenty of money to be made there, but little joy to be had. </p>
<p>Here Gon runs along ahead of Hisoka so he can climb trees and see the bird nests, tiny spotted eggs nestled in downy beds, and can jump across the river on rocks and look for silvery fish. He feels alive in a way he never does when he’s in big cities, feels the vibrance of nature surrounding him.</p>
<p>There are tracks of iron-claw lions and dire wolves in the forest, old tracks but reminders that this place isn’t a safe paradise – not that anywhere is. He can smell old urine markings on some of the trees, some wolf pack carving out its territory. He drops back to Hisoka, who is shuffling cards between his hands. </p>
<p>“There’s a lot of wildlife here. Some of it’s dangerous,” he says. “The females will have their babies at this time of year; they’ll be very protective.”</p>
<p>“Thanks for the warning,” hums the magician. “It’s good to know you’re looking out for me.”</p>
<p>Although they seem genuine his words make Gon flush; Hisoka’s undoubtedly the stronger of the two of them, had trampled Gon in their last fight. He doesn’t need protecting. </p>
<p>They walk together for a while, feet padding quietly on the fallen pine needles, the only sound that of birdsong and the river running over rocks. “Hisoka?”</p>
<p>“Hm?” </p>
<p>“Are you disappointed? That I lost my nen? Do you think I should be trying to get it back?”</p>
<p>The magician turns, his expression one of quiet interest. “Are you asking because you value my opinion? Or to make yourself feel better?”</p>
<p>Gon swallows. “I care what you think,” he says, eventually. “Because – I was supposed to fight you! When I got stronger. And now I’ll never be strong enough to fight you.”</p>
<p>Hisoka stops so suddenly Gon nearly bumps into him. “Nen has wonderful advantages. And it’s much prized by the Hunter Association – prized unduly, in my opinion. Don’t make the mistake of thinking it’s everything. If you’re strong and sharp and talented, you can defeat a nen-user without nen. That kind of challenge should appeal to you, I think. As for me… it’s <i>you</i> I want to fight, not your nen. I still believe that someday, you will truly impress me. I haven’t given up on that belief.”</p>
<p>“You really still want to fight me?”</p>
<p>“Oh <i>yes</i>,” purrs Hisoka. “And you?”</p>
<p>“I want to! Really! And if that means I have to get stronger without nen, then I will!”</p>
<p>The magician smiles. “Good.”</p>
<p>Gon nods. “Un! Thanks Hisoka!” He hitches his backpack up on his back and blows past the other Hunter, dodging up along their route through the trees. “I’m gonna scout ahead!”</p>
<p>He jogs onwards, smiling, the breeze blowing in his hair.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>They reach the first obstacle later that morning: a sudden jagged cliff rising into the sky above them, its wall straight and solid. The river tumbles down it in a waterfall, although not the one they seek. It’s at least a hundred yards tall and very sheer. Gon smells the breeze coming down from above, nose twitching.<p>“It’s colder above,” he says. “And wilder. This is as far as people from Mankutta ever come, I think.”</p>
<p>“How exciting,” croons Hisoka, looking upwards. “Although I fear this will be hard on my nails.” </p>
<p>“They’re not too practical for the outdoors.”</p>
<p>Hisoka’s eyes glint like sparks. “Perhaps not. But I do enjoy making a statement.”</p>
<p>“Out here, there’s only me. And I already know how pretty you are,” says Gon, looking up plainly at him.</p>
<p>“Mm, flattery. I could do with more of that,” purrs the magician, twisting a stray lock of crimson hair behind his ear. “Tell me, Gon, do you admire beauty?”</p>
<p>Gon looks up at him, at his beaten-gold eyes and his seductive lips and his elegant cheekbones. He nods. “I like pretty things. And I like you, Hisoka. But not just because you’re pretty.”</p>
<p>One fine red eyebrow rises. “Oh?”</p>
<p>“You’re strong – really strong. You could break me if you wanted to, but you don’t and I can feel you holding back all the time. It makes me scared, but it makes me want to get stronger, too.”</p>
<p>Hisoka lets out his breath in an audible sigh. “You should be careful, Gon. Too much praise and I may lose my inhibitions. And then <i>anything</i> might happen.” His voice is throbbing, lustful. </p>
<p>“It’s okay; I trust you.”</p>
<p>Hisoka blinks. “Why ever would you?”</p>
<p>“Because I know however much you want to fight me right away, you want it to be a good fight – and right now, it won’t be. I trust you to know what you want best. You’re the kind of person who would sacrifice anything to get what he wants best.”</p>
<p>Hisoka’s lips turn upwards, face tightening, contorting. He raises his chin and laughs, a raucous, crowing sound. “I am so selfish I won’t allow myself something I’m saving for later, is that it?”</p>
<p>Gon scratches his head. “I guess,” he says. </p>
<p>“You are truly one of a kind.” Hisoka straightens, shaking off his humour like a dog shakes off water. “Well then. Up we go, I suppose.”</p>
<p>Gon nods and, reaching up, takes his first hand-hold.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>Although steep and with few handholds, Gon is an excellent climber and Hisoka can use Bungee Gum when his grip slips. They overcome the cliff without much difficulty. At the top they can see all the way back over the forest to Mankutta village, smoke rising from cooking fires and the tall stockade wall jutting upwards like rotting teeth.<p>Turning around all that’s ahead of them is more forest, topped in the distance by snowy mountains. They carry on.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>The trip should take about two days; one day to get to the waterfall and another to get back; they’ll camp beside the river overnight. Around mid-afternoon Gon scents something following them – the thick, sweaty fug of a dire wolf. It’s keeping its distance but is definitely following them as they trail through the trees. It will wait for more of its pack to join it, then attack them when they’re at a disadvantage.<p>“We’ve got a visitor,” he says quietly to Hisoka. “I’ll drop back and deal with it.”</p>
<p>“Very well.”</p>
<p>He hops up into a tree and leaps from branch to branch backwards, movements silent, breathing quiet. Hisoka carries on, not bothering to hide his footsteps or the sounds of his passage. </p>
<p>When he’s gone a little ways back he stops, finding a good perch and settling himself in. He slows his breaths and his heartbeat, calming his mind and body, letting himself fade into the background. </p>
<p>He finally spots the wolf – large with coarse grey fur and a black stripe down the centre of his muzzle – a ways back. It doesn’t sense him. </p>
<p>He waits for it to approach, its big paws padding on the soft forest floor, its nose occasionally sniffing the air as it tracks Hisoka. </p>
<p>When it’s right beneath him Gon drops down, falls like a cannonball right onto its back. He brings his two fists down onto its skull, braining it, and it drops. Unconscious.</p>
<p>It will be safe enough here – there aren’t any local predators for dire wolves. When it wakes up, they’ll be too far ahead for it to catch up. </p>
<p>“Sleep well,” he says, quietly, and starts jogging after Hisoka.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>Back together again they continue hiking, stopping occasionally to drink from their canteens. This isn’t the Hunter Exam, there’s no need for them to push themselves to the breaking point.<p>It’s during one of these lulls that Gon strikes up a conversation again. </p>
<p>“Hisoka?”</p>
<p>The magician glances at him, in the process of taking a swig from his canteen. His sharp Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, his pale throat glinting in the afternoon sunlight. </p>
<p>“If you lost your nen… would you try to get it back?”</p>
<p>Hisoka lowers his canteen and screws the top back on it. “I don’t believe the question would ever arise. I cannot imagine doing as you did, tying myself to a covenant of despair. If I am not strong enough as I am, then I deserve defeat, or must work to grow stronger. Taking what is beyond my reach for a temporary victory… that would taste hollow.”</p>
<p>Gon stares back at him. He’s packing his canteen back in his bag, attention focused on that task. “Oh. I see.”</p>
<p>“But Gon – your motives are not mine. Taking revenge for another… that is not in my nature. The dead are dead; we owe them no dues. Caring for others… it is not a sentiment I understand. I have many lusts, but no loves. In some ways we are similar, but in this we are poles apart.”</p>
<p>“That’s kind of sad, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>Hisoka looks down at him, expression bland. “A fish cannot lust after flight; how could I miss what I’ve never known?”</p>
<p>“But there are flying fish, Hisoka. There’s hope for all of us, I think.”</p>
<p>“I have neither hope nor despair,” replies the magician, hauling his bag onto his back. “Let’s keep moving; we’re losing sun.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>The wind is blowing up towards them from Mankutta, carrying with it the faint smells of civilization: smoke and oil.<p>Gon’s looking back towards their route home, their footprints shallow in the soft earth and needles. </p>
<p>He’s just turning when he sees a flash of movement some ten yards away, downwind of them and just behind a tree. </p>
<p>Hisoka moves faster than his sight can follow, his hand snapping out in front of Gon’s neck. He catches something between his fingers and flings it back, snarling. </p>
<p>There’s a moment of silence, then a soft thump. Hisoka prowls forward, Gon following, still shocked. </p>
<p>There’s a local huntsman lying prone on the ground behind a tree, a poisoned dart in his throat. </p>
<p>“Not all the local tribes are friendly with Mankutta and the oil prospectors,” he says, kicking the body. It rolls, skin already pale and lips blue. “Fast-acting poison.”</p>
<p>Gon looks up at him. “This is the second time you’ve saved me from a poisoned dart,” he says.</p>
<p>“And how will you repay me this time?”</p>
<p>“I’ll make dinner,” says Gon. Hisoka smiles slowly. </p>
<p>“Very well,” he says, and while Gon has the impression he wants to ask for more, he simply turns and continues on towards the mountains.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>Gon lets Hisoka lead; with his nen he’s more likely to detect the aura of any other huntsmen in the region.<p>As they walk, Gon’s backpack starts feeling heavier and heavier. He hikes it up again and again but it keeps weighing him down. The sun is fading fast, the world around growing darker, as though lit through smoked glass. Although the ground is only slightly inclined, Gon’s beginning to feel winded, his breathing growing strained. </p>
<p>Hisoka slows and looks back, and Gon bumps into his shoulder. His head is heavier too, his spine bending under its weight. He can feel his heart beating faster in his chest, too fast, too shallow. He looks at his hand – it’s strangely pale, his nails blue in tone. </p>
<p>“What’s wrong with you?” asks the magician pointedly.</p>
<p>Gon looks up, and the world spins, sky and earth tumbling over one another. </p>
<p>A moment later he’s lying in Hisoka’s arms, staring up at glittering gold eyes. “’Soka?”</p>
<p>The magician pulls the collar away from his neck, traces a line with his thumb. “The dart nicked you. Why didn’t you say something?” He sounds angry, voice rough. </p>
<p>Gon blinks up at him. “Didn’ feel ‘nything,” he says softly. </p>
<p>“For poison this potent, he won’t have bothered with an antidote. There is no help nearby. Whether you live is up to you,” he says. </p>
<p>“’ll be okay,” says Gon, his breathing raspy. His chest feels tight, his skin hot. The world is all dark and fuzzy around the edges and blurred in the centre. </p>
<p>Hisoka picks him up in his arms and carries him. </p>
<p>Onwards, into the darkening forest.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>His vision is dark and blurred; all he can see is Hisoka’s golden eyes dancing above him, bright and eldritch as fox fire in the shadow. Sometimes Hisoka speaks, but his ears are stuffed as though with cotton and he can’t make out the words.<p>He’s so hot. He feels like his skin is melting, like his <i>bones</i> are melting, face caving inwards as though eaten away with acid, choking him. He fights weakly in Hisoka’s grip, wants to strip off his clothes and throw himself in the river until the heat within him freezes. He’s begging, pleading for relief, for Hisoka to stop, to let him drown himself in the icy waters beside them. </p>
<p>When Hisoka finally does stop and lays him down in a small clearing, Gon’s too weak to stand. He tries, tries to roll over and get his legs under him, but he only twitches, pine needles scratching his sensitive skin. It’s like lying on a bed of flames, fiery and agonizing. </p>
<p>Hisoka strips off his colourful clothes, then steps over and strips Gon’s off, until he can feel the cold mountain air on his naked skin – it’s not enough, not nearly enough, he’s boiling, burning up, turning to ashes even as he lies here. </p>
<p>Hisoka picks him up and carries him into the river. It’s deep and icy and strong, pulling at him. Hisoka holds him, submerges the both of them and holds him with his head above the ripping waves, water splashing his fiery cheeks. </p>
<p>Gon has no sense of time; all he knows is Hisoka’s golden eyes, so bright, like beacons. They won’t let him fail, won’t let him get lost in this darkness. As his breathing slows, as the heat fades and his body grows heavy again, he stares up at them. Holds onto the sight of them, brilliant, beautiful.</p>
<p>As long as he can see them, he’ll be okay.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Hisoka</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Frigid water pounds over Hisoka’s back, pummelling his muscles and numbing his skin. The stones in the riverbed bite into his bare feet, hard and unyielding. He squats in the quick-running current with Gon held in front of him, the boy’s head cradled in his elbow, raised carefully out of the water.</p><p>They’ve only been in the river for a few minutes but he’s already feeling his body temperature drop dangerously low. With his hands numb from their icy submersion he has no way of knowing if Gon’s spiking fever has dropped, but he can’t stay in the water for much longer. </p><p>Nestled in his arms, held safe against the tearing river currents, Gon is looking up at him. His almond irises are dull, glassy, his mouth slack. He lies limply, one arm trailing in the frothing water. If Hisoka let him go now he would be torn away by the river, light as a feather, and dashed to pieces on the jagged rocks. So fragile, so beautiful. Hisoka sighs. </p><p>Finally, when his body’s shivers are beginning to cease and his own limbs are growing heavy, Hisoka hauls himself up and strides out of the river onto dry land, icy water sluicing down his long legs onto the needle-blanketed earth below. He digs his small towel out of his pack and dries Gon, then lays him down on top of his down coat, his damp head pillowed in its fur-lined hood. </p><p>The boy is still awake but clearly delirious, eyes staring sightlessly up at Hisoka, blue lips pursing and loosening weakly. His body is still developing, supple and clean-lined and surprisingly willowy for the strength he holds. His stomach is flat but the definition of his abs faint, his arms and legs hardly showing any press of muscle. He’s yet to enter puberty, his body a child’s, pure and untainted.</p><p>It makes Hisoka want to <i>ruin</i> him. Someday soon that innocence will be lost, that purity shredded by the growing burdens of adulthood. And this moment too will be gone forever, this one opportunity to possess the boy before anyone else touches him, before he grows into his manhood. </p><p>Hisoka squats beside Gon, eyes staring hungrily, fingers grasping. He feels sensation coming back to him from the inside out, feels the ache of desire in his chest. The boy is his for the taking, is defenseless, is lovely as a budding fruit. </p><p>He’s so focused that the rushing of the river and the high whistle of birdsong fade out, his world nothing but Gon. </p><p>Slowly as drops of blood blossoming in still water, his lust abates. He feels this moment pass into history, ungrasped.  </p><p>Hisoka rises and steps back. He walks bare-foot and naked across the pine needle floor, running the towel over his own damp skin. He feels the cold now, numbness having burnt away, his skin like gooseflesh and his body shivering. He pulls his clothes back on, the roughness of the material chaffing him. Once dressed he pulls the bedroll off the bottom of Gon’s backpack and unfurls it, draping it over the boy. Gon’s breathing is laboured, his skin still pale from the cold of the river. At his throat, the scratch from the poisoned dart is pale now, his body cold. </p><p>Standing, Hisoka casts around for dry wood for a fire. He could cut branches from the nearby trees, but green wood never burns as well as dead. By the river’s edge he finds some old wood washed up, branches that he snaps in two like matchsticks and heaps in a pile. Dust and punk wood rain down, pale and dry in the setting sun.  </p><p>In his youth Hisoka built fires for warmth, but that had been in city slums; there had always been trash to burn, greasy newspapers and old crushed boxes. There’s no paper here to kindle the flames, no cardboard to cradle them. </p><p>He looks down at Gon. He’s sure the boy would have no trouble building a fire from scratch, without even matches. “And you promised me dinner,” he says dryly. </p><p>Well, he’s had promises broken before. He digs through his pack and finds his copy of the map. He shreds it into long strips slowly, letting them fall like confetti onto the heap of wood he’s created. When the map is gone he rearranges the logs so that the paper is in the centre, the wood atop it. Then he takes a match to the heap. </p><p>At first the flames burn quickly, eating through the paper and turning it to ash, and he fears the fire won’t catch. But some of the punk wood takes a flame and it settles, the fire kindling. It grows gradually until there’s no danger of it going out. </p><p>Hisoka holds up his hands to the flickering flames, heat washing over his palms. There’s a large stone in the clearing and he sits on it, its weathered surface covered in moss. It’s a perfect distance from the fire; close enough to keep him warm without becoming wreathed in smoke or over-hot. </p><p>Gon lies on his makeshift bed on the other side of the fire, eyes glassy, his breathing raspy. “Hisoka?”</p><p>“Mm. Still here,” replies the magician. Gon’s head rolls slowly to track to him, movement heavy. Hisoka is reminded of the weight of death, of the way bodies slow before expiring. </p><p>“Feel all fuzzy,” he says, words slurred.</p><p>“Your body is fighting the poison. It remains to be seen which will win.”</p><p>Gon’s head lolls to the side, eyes sliding closed. “Nnh.”</p><p>Hisoka watches for a few minutes, just in case he’s close to dying, but the boy keeps breathing. Eventually Hisoka gets up and finds his bag, digs through it looking for the food he packed. </p><p>Gon won’t be making him dinner tonight.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>Hisoka likes his comforts – hot showers and silk sheets, single malt scotch and glove-leather boots. But he doesn’t <i>need</i> any of that, grew up without ever even imagining any of it except maybe the hot showers.<p>Which means that, while if available he would feast on pheasant and paté and Moët, he has no problem eating hard cheese and broken crackers and jerky. He has no doubt Gon, with his woodsman knowledge, would have caught rabbit or fish for them to eat, would have spitted it and roasted it on a fire. </p><p>The boy is growing restless, his fever returning. His hair, damp although not soaked by the river spray, is now slick with sweat, his skin shiny with it in the glow of the campfire. His lips are parted, chest working to suck in air to fuel the fire of his fever. His limbs are twitching, face tightening and slackening as he dreams fever dreams. </p><p>Hisoka wonders what it is he dreams of, this boy who is so unlike any other he’s ever known. So pure and yet so hard, utterly unyielding in the face of defeat. He shines like steel in Hisoka’s eyes, dangerous and unbreakable even without his nen. And yet right now he’s fragile, defenseless as a newly-hatched chick. The juxtaposition is fascinating. Hisoka meditates on it as he eats, sitting on the other side of the fire slowly chewing cheese and crackers. </p><p>He’s most curious about the circumstances surrounding Gon’s loss of nen. His fight against the unknown Pitou, his covenant, his fall. Illumi had been clear that the boy was at death’s door, that it was only the unknown Zodyck brother who had saved his life through his bizarre power. Hisoka wants to taste Gon’s determination and his despair, wants to see what it is he missed while his fruit was ripening so quickly. </p><p>And so, his meal complete, he stands and crosses over to sit on the fragrant earth beside the boy, Gon’s face strained in the firelight. </p><p>“Gon,” he calls softly, reaching out and running the back of his finger down Gon’s sweat-soaked cheek. He shivers, frowning, eyelashes fluttering. “Wake up, Gon.” Endearments come to mind, the sorts of mild, gentle words women use to soothe fussy children: dear-heart, sweetness, lovely. Words Hisoka has never once used, not even in irony. Something about this boy brings them to mind, though, the harshness of his hunger temporarily backed into a silken curiosity, his attention cloying. “Open your eyes, pet,” he croons, running the tip of his nail along the curve of Gon’s jaw. </p><p>Gon twitches, head tilting to the side. His eyes open slowly. They’re fever-blind, unfocused and glassy. A tiny sound escapes his throat, somewhere between a grunt and a sigh. </p><p>Hisoka leans over him, draping him in shadow. “You need to wake up, Gon. Pitou is back.” </p><p>Gon’s frowns slowly, his lovely lips pouting. “Pitou…”</p><p>“Mm. The one who hurt you, who took your nen, who killed your friend. Killed Kite,” he says, pulling names out of his memory. He’s always had a good memory for weapons, even if they’re only words. After all, words can remain sharp long after scars fade. </p><p>The boy’s breathing is laborious, rough. His teeth show, sharp and white, as his lips pull backwards in a pained snarl. “Pitou. <i>Pitou</i>.” His eyes darken, almond deepening to oak.</p><p>“Yes, your enemy. Can you see him standing here before you? What do you feel?”</p><p>A low snarl escapes Gon, a sound like a blade being unsheathed. “Torturer. <i>Killer</i>. You hurt Kite. Over and over. Scars, stitches. Ripping, tearing. Over and over.” He shudders, head tilting back, teeth clenched. “<i>Pitou!</i>”</p><p>His breath releases all at once, eyes tight with pain. </p><p>“Will you fight him as you are, weak and naked, without nen, without hope? Does revenge mean so much to you?”</p><p>“Kite,” moans the boy, tossing beneath the blanket. “Kite, no… Please… stop hurting him.”</p><p>“But he <i>will</i> hurt him, Gon,” purrs Hisoka in his ear. “He will rip him to pieces because of you. You will never be able to stop it – Kite’s already dead.”</p><p>“<i>Kite</i>,” keens Gon, eyes fluttering wide open, mouth dropping. </p><p>Hisoka leans in close, voice low. “Show me your anguish, your despair. Show me the hopelessness of death.”</p><p>Gon is panting for breath, his skin hot, flushed. The tendons in his neck are tense, standing out like wires beneath his skin. His expression is shot through with pain, somehow all the more beautiful for the agony it shows. Saliva is trickling from the corners of his mouth, his eyes hazy. So sick, so fragile, so <i>lovely</i>. </p><p>“Where. Is. Pitou?” he demands, gasping for air. </p><p>“He is here. He is waiting for you.”</p><p>Gon struggles upwards, sitting up and shoving the blanket off. He pulls his legs up under him, movements slow and jerky, and then stands on tottering limbs. “<i>Pitou</i>,” he hisses, looking back and forth. </p><p>His determination is astounding, is intoxicating. Hisoka looks up at him, awed by this boy. </p><p>Gon takes a step forward, falters, and drops. Hisoka rises and catches him as his eyes slide closed. He’s sweating freely, his skin fiery. </p><p>Time for another trip to the river.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>With the sun set, it takes longer for Hisoka to warm up after chilling Gon’s feverish body in the frigid river. He finds more wood for the fire and loads it on, the flames crackling and gnawing at their new fuel.<p>Gon lies quiet now, his breathing calmed by his cooled body, his movements stilled. Hisoka watches the rise and fall of his chest beneath the blanket. It’s completely dark now and in the orange firelight he’s painted in soft, amber hues. </p><p>Hisoka waits and watches, the back of his mind ever mindful of the possibility of further attack, his nen searching out other auras, other threats. He sits on the stone with his knees drawn up and his elbows resting on them, fingers woven together to support his chin, his back curved like a cat’s. </p><p>Behind the dark mountains, the white moon rises. It’s nearly full, shining silvery light down over the forest. The shadows it casts are faint, insubstantial. </p><p>Under its gibbous glow Gon’s temperature slowly rises. The fever spike doesn’t have the sudden sharpness of the two previous ones, and Hisoka suspects this will be a slow curve – a steady heat rather than a raging threat. </p><p>Gradually Gon grows restless, shifting back and forth on his coat, twisting beneath the blanket. Expressions pass over his face: worry, tension, pleasure. Hisoka watches them like a pantomime show, waiting patiently to see what the outcome of all this will be.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>It’s late when the delirium returns, Hisoka grown stiff with sitting. He looks up as Gon begins to mutter to himself, lips forming half-words and moans. “Killua,” and “Sorry,” are the only two words Hisoka can make out.<p>Interest peaked he rises, striding around the campfire to seat himself once more at Gon’s side. This time he draws his nails through the boy’s hair, pulling the sweat-dampened locks away from his face. Gon stills slightly at the touch, face relaxing. Intrigued, Hisoka does it again, slowly stroking the boy. </p><p>“So even you enjoy being gentled,” muses Hisoka. “Who do you take me for, I wonder? Your mother? Darling Killua?” He brushes the back of his thumbnail over Gon’s hairline, and the wrinkles on his forehead smooth. </p><p>Gon opens his eyes and stares up for a long time, unspeaking. Then, quietly: “Killua?” His voice is just a whisper, and yet is brimming with need, longing overflowing. </p><p>“Mm,” replies Hisoka, quietly, running the back of his fingers over Gon’s eyes and pressing them shut. He strokes them gently, the skin silken smooth. </p><p>“Come back,” he whispers. “Killua? C-come back.” His voice is harsh with fever, his words slurred. </p><p>“Why?” </p><p>“Killua… I want Killua.” He reaches up blindly and takes hold of Hisoka’s hand, his grip weak and sweaty. “Stay. Please. Stay.”</p><p>“I’m angry, Gon,” says Hisoka, wondering what it is the boy hears, what he believes. </p><p>“Sorry. Sorry. I… it hurts, Killua. Come back.”</p><p>Hisoka smiles softly in the moonlight. He’s never been one for gross deceptions, but there is something delicious in wringing out Gon’s delirious suffering. “But you left me. You gave up everything. You gave me up.”</p><p>Gon’s lip is trembling, hot tears wetting Hisoka’s fingers as they cover his eyes. “I miss you. So much. Oh Killua, so much.” His tears roll down his round cheeks, gather on his lashes like pearls, like dewdrops on cobweb. Hisoka raises his hand to his lips, licks them away. </p><p>Slowly Gon’s eyes open. He blinks up at Hisoka, eyes dull. “Hisoka?” he asks, eventually. </p><p>“So it would seem.”</p><p>“Where’s Killua?” He sounds lost, confused. </p><p>Hisoka taps the tips of his nails against his lips, smiling softly. “He’s gone now. Far away, I think.”</p><p>“Will you bring him back?”</p><p>“No, Gon. That’s not my job.” </p><p>Gon’s eyes slide closed. “Killua,” he whispers, broken. </p><p>Eventually, he falls into a fitful slumber.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>The moon works its way through the sky, stars sparkling around it. The fire dies down to embers, deep red glowing pits like a dragon’s gullet. Hisoka returns to his stone and sits, still in the cold mountain air.<p>Time passes.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>Day breaks, pale and cold, and Gon wakes with it. His breathing has calmed, his skin no longer sweat-soaked. He sits up and looks across at Hisoka.<p>“Hisoka? What happened? My memory’s all fuzzy.”</p><p>“You were poisoned by the huntsman. Congratulations: you appear to have survived.”</p><p>“Oh. And you took care of me?”</p><p>“Mm, it was a new experience. I rather enjoyed it.”</p><p>“Oh. Good. And thanks!” He stretches, arching his spine and swivelling his shoulders, lithe as a cat. Hisoka smiles. </p><p>“If you will make breakfast, I will retrieve our target. The waterfall shouldn’t be far from here.”</p><p>Gon nods. “I can do that.”</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>The waterfall is some three miles further upstream; he locates it easily, the water rushing down over a cliff some fifty meters high. There’s a cave behind it accessed by slippery standing stones; Hisoka leaps easily across them and into the echoing darkness beyond.<p>There’s a pedestal of stone in the centre of the shallow cave; on it stands a small rosewood box. He lifts it and carries it back with him.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>When he returns to camp, Gon has a fire going and is grilling several smallish fish on it. He looks up as Hisoka approaches, wiping charred scales on his shorts. “You found it!”<p>“Yes; no difficulty there.”</p><p>“What’s inside?”</p><p>“You’re curious?”</p><p>“Well, not really – but if it’s empty we’ll be in trouble!”</p><p>Hisoka undoes the latch and raises the lid. Inside are old sepia photographs and some beaded jewellery. “Petty memories,” he says, bored. </p><p>“I bet they’ll mean a lot to the old man, though,” says Gon. “I’m glad you found it. C’mon, the fish is done.” He pulls the stakes out of the earth and hands one to Hisoka, who looks down at it. Gon takes his own fish and starts eating immediately, biting into it right on the skewer. Hisoka leans in and nibbles. The taste is good – not fishy but meaty, and a little blackened. </p><p>“I had these really weird dreams last night,” says Gon, as they eat. He’s sitting cross-legged near the fire, eyes bright in the flickering light. </p><p>Hisoks raises an innocent eyebrow. “Oh?”</p><p>“Yeah. About Pitou. And Killua. They were unhappy dreams.”</p><p>“A window to your soul, perhaps? Do you regret your actions?”</p><p>Gon thinks about it, staring down at his fish. “No. I mean – Pitou was dangerous, and horrible. But I was really awful to Killua, too. I didn’t think about him at all. I don’t even know if I was thinking about Kite. I thought I was, but… dead people don’t care about revenge. It was really to make me feel better.”</p><p>“And so?”</p><p>“When I thought Killua was here… I just wanted him to come back. So much. But that’s not right. I can’t just wait for him to turn up, and beg him to stay. I have to earn it. I have to bring him back. Even without my nen, I can still grow. I still <i>have</i> to grow!” </p><p>Hisoka smiles. “Your dedication is one of your good points,” he says. “And I <i>do</i> have a soft spot for darling Killua. The two of you together are very fine.” <i>Very</i> fine, like a pair of ripening fruit near to being picked. So near. </p><p>“I’m glad you came with me on this trip,” says Gon, tossing away his skewers. </p><p>“Especially as you would have died from fever or poison without me,” points out Hisoka. Gon blinks, then smiles.</p><p>“Well, yeah. That! But also, it’s been really helpful to talk to you. Since we met Killua and I have always understood each other really well, so we never really learned to talk about things. I just do what I want, and he gets embarrassed when we get too personal. But talking’s important, isn’t it?”</p><p>“So they say,” agrees Hisoka cautiously. “Certainly, it is amusing.” </p><p>“It’s different, talking with you. You ask questions no one else does. They’re all afraid to push me, to hurt me. But there’s a lot of hard questions, and being afraid of them isn’t right.”</p><p>“Mm, a wise attitude.”</p><p>Gon looks up at him. “I learned it from you! So thanks, Hisoka!” He stands, grabbing his blanket and shaking it out. “And now I think we should get going. Our flight home leaves at sundown and we don’t want to miss it.”</p><p>Hisoka watches him scurry around the campsite for a few moments, all industry, then tosses away the remains of his own breakfast and goes to pull together his bag. The rosewood box, he places in the top.</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p><br/>
***</p>
</div>The trip back is less eventful that the previous day’s journey; they don’t encounter and huntsmen or dire wolves, and climbing down the cliff is relatively simple.<p>Mostly they walk in silence, each intent on finishing this job, their pace quick. Hisoka watches as Gon scouts ahead, this time travelling in the trees rather than on the forest floor. He seems unaffected by last night’s fever. </p><p>As they near Mankutta, the stockade visible through the few remaining trees, Gon drops back and joins Hisoka. </p><p>“What’re you going to do after this, Hisoka?”</p><p>“I have some unfinished business at Heaven’s Arena,” he says. </p><p>“Right – you could challenge a floor master! Are you going to stay there and be a fighter?”</p><p>“For a time, perhaps. Until I grow bored with it.”</p><p>“Well that’s good – I’ll know where you are.”</p><p>Hisoka smiles. “Do you anticipate a rematch?”</p><p>“I told you: I’m going to get stronger. And when I do, I’ll challenge you again.”</p><p>“With Killua by your side?”</p><p>Gon nods, eyes shining. “Yeah!”</p><p>Hisoka imagines that, not only Gon’s face shattered, but Killua’s destroyed by his only friend’s loss. Arousal blossoms in his stomach, and anticipation. “Mm. That will be <i>delightful</i>,” he says. </p><p>“I think you’d enjoy it even if you lost,” says Gon.</p><p>Hisoka’s lips curl, his body hot, throbbing. “Isn’t it nice when there’s no downside?”</p><p>Together they emerge from the forest, sun painting long shadows behind them. </p><p>Job done.</p>
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